Scent of a Woman
by Somigliana
Summary: Missing Scenes' from HP and the Deathly Hallows.
1. Scent of a Woman

**Scent of a Woman**

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts has been torture this year. Not because we have an annoying teacher like Look-At-Me Lockhart prancing about being self-congratulatory, or a dead boring teacher like Wands-Away Umbridge simpering away about hypothetical situations. No. Amycus Carrow (a pathetic excuse for a pureblood if I ever saw one) was teaching the Dark Arts this year. Well, the crude and unrefined side of the Dark Arts √ the torture hexes. I don't think he knows the meaning of subtle. My mother says that he is what happens when the English wizards interbreed for one generation too many.

I tapped my quill against the desk, waiting for the class to begin. Talking to Draco wasn't worth the effort. He'd returned from the Christmas holidays looking even worse than after the summer holidays (I can't imagine that he was opening Christmas presents with the Dark Lord), and now he's monosyllabic, at best. I've had my 'I told you so' gloat, but accompanied by sharp pity, it didn't feel quite as satisfying as it should have.

Professor Carrow (some might term that an oxymoron in itself) came lumbering to the DADA classroom, and the quiet murmur of my classmates fell to absolute silence in a heavy wave. He might not be a particularly impressive man, but his punishments are quite enough to make the most verbose seventh-year shut it.

He leant against the desk, wheezing. The stairs get him every time. I suspected he'd been overindulging in the house-elf cooking, too, because his robes were stretched skin-tight across his lumpy shoulders.

"We're doing the Deflindo Curse today," he said, and he hacked a cough that made me want to cover my face with a handkerchief. At least he wasn't picking his nose ... yet. "I like this one, because it makes lots more cuts than a Diffindo, only shallower." He leered at the class.

I could almost hear his sadistic thoughts. Because it makes the victim hurt more.

I glanced around the class. Draco was scribbling in the margin of his book. Vincent looked excited (he probably falls into the Carrow category, if you ask me). Neville Longbottom was clenching his jaw. I wondered if he was going to put up a fuss today, because it was rather entertaining, truth be told. Susan Bones sat behind him, looking nauseated.

"And don't get Deflindo mixed up with Deflayo ..."

She looked like she was sweating and just as Carrow was extolling the virtues of the Skin Flaying curse, her head hit the desk, and she moaned loudly. "Ungh ... gonna be sick."

"Ah, fer ... Zabini!"

I turned towards Carrow with a mildly inquiring expression. "Yes, sir?"

I knew what was coming; Carrow disliked me. My fellow Slytherins have compiled several theories as to why this is √ my Crucio is prettier than his, I'm Slughorn's favourite, I never say a word in his class unless prompted, my mother told him to fuck off and die. I rather think it's because I'm a full foot taller than he is and a hundred times better looking.

"Take Bones to Pomfrey, before she blows," he said, sneering at me. It made his eyes cross even worse. I fought the smirk that threatened and slid from my seat.

I picked up Bones' bag and took her elbow as she stood shakily. She gazed up at me with glassy, unfocussed eyes. _Do not vomit on me!_ She swayed towards me as we stepped into the corridor, forcing me to put an arm around her waist.

My disdainful expression faltered slightly as I breathed in her perfume. A plain girl like Susan Bones had no business smelling like that - exotic and spicy and utterly alluring. A Hufflepuff had no right to make me want to touch my nose to her throat, to make me want to devour that sinful fragrance. Now if the Slytherin girls smelt like this, well, they'd see a little more action, perhaps. But Pansy always smelt overwhelmingly floral, Daphne overdid the musk, and Millicent smelt like Eau de Quidditch.

I scowled at her for smelling so delicious. "If you vomit on me, I swear I will leave you right where we stand," I threatened. "And why the hell is your bag so heavy?"

She stopped moving her feet, and I huffed an exasperated sigh.

"Not the h-hospital wing," she said, clutching a handful of my robes. "F-front pocket of m-my bag."

I narrowed my eyes, realising what had happened, and I steered her into an empty classroom. "You took a Weasley sweet, didn't you?" I accused as I dumped her into a chair. I almost sighed as her scent drifted away. Maybe she had a bottle of it in her bag, I thought as I rummaged through it. I swear I'd make my future lovers wear it.

She dry-heaved, making an awful retching sound, and I hastened my search for the antidote half of the sweet. My fingertips brushed against something warm, and I frowned, pulling out a Galleon along with the lint-covered pastille. "Here," I said, pushing the sweet into her hand roughly.

While she chewed, I examined the coin, frowning. Why the hell was it hot? And then I spotted it. Instead of the usual Goblin runes, there were numbers and letters etched along the edge of the coin... Albus ... what in Merlin's name did that mean?

"Hey, give me that!" Obviously she'd recovered from whatever Weasley-derived illness she'd had.

I glanced down at her over the edge of the coin and smirked. "A bit strapped for cash, Bones?" I drawled, memorising the series of numbers before flicking the coin into the air and catching it deftly.

She lunged for me, snatching at the coin. Instead of dancing away, I caught her, took a deep breath and smiled (the devastating one that makes girls swoon). 'What's it worth to you?" I raised an eyebrow, and I wondered how I'd thought her plain. Her cheeks were flushed with temper, and she was pouting. Perhaps baiting a badger was worth it, after all.

The Galleon had cooled in my fingertips, and I licked my lips (her eyes betrayed her, following the movement) and held up the coin between us. She grabbed the coin and leant past me to get her bag. I wasn't quite ready to let her and her scent leave yet, though. I felt compelled to halt her and a little intoxicated, perhaps.

"Why did you take the Weasley sweet?" I asked, stepping in front of her.

"What's it worth to you?"

I had to give her points for throwing my line back at me. I shrugged nonchalantly. "Just idly curious," I said, sounding bored.

"I just didn't want to see that curse being used," she said, and her expression plainly said that she didn't want to discuss it any further. "I'm sure you'd be very good at it," she added, giving me a dark glare.

I frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending her scent swirling into the air between us. "You seem to enjoy the Dark Arts."

I did, yes, to be honest. But I didn' t enjoy this brand of Dark Arts. My mother was a far better teacher; the Dark Arts were sinuous and subtle in her hands. "Not everything is what it seems," I murmured, more to myself than to her.

She probably thought that I supported Voldemort, too. The rest of the school put all of the Slytherins into one neat pigeonhole, didn't they? Of course power was important, but any fool could see that Voldemort wasn't interested in sharing his. What Snape was bloody thinking, I couldn't fathom.

But Potter had failed miserably so far. The fucking Chosen One, indeed. Nobody knew what Harry Potter was up to these days, and I was intensely curious about it. My mother's new husband had a better chance of living than I had of gaining access to the elusive DA, though.

I realised that she was staring at me with an odd expression on her face, and I kicked myself for dropping my guard around her, letting her see far more than I usually showed to people.

I turned on my heel, leaving Susan Bones and her scent and her puzzlement behind.

* * *

_We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving._

Later that week, at home for the Easter holidays, I discovered the significance of Susan Bones' Galleon. I rolled my eyes at the stupid nicknames, of course, but hearing news of resistance was oddly comforting. Perhaps I would still have the opportunity to weave my own subtle power in a far less stifling political environment.

As Remus Lupin gave what I'm sure he considered was a heartfelt and rousing speech to Harry Potter, I thought that I'd have to find a way to listen in on Potterwatch again. Perhaps Susan Bones and her intoxicating scent would be seeing a little more of me next term.

* * *

Author's Notes: "We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving." Royal on Potterwatch - quoted directly from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.

Written for romancingwizard at LJ.


	2. The Parting of the Ways

**The Parting of the Ways**

* * *

Dust drifted down from the roof beams and filtered into the new silence which hung in the air. I held my breath for a moment, waiting for the next thunderous assault on Hogwarts to shake the foundations of the Three Broomsticks.

My headache pounded against my temples, throbbing in tandem with my heartbeat. The pain had intensified with each terrified, high-pitched scream of the evacuating students, until it had etched my lips into a permanent snarl.

"Baddock, Harper, you're next. Get over here," I commanded impatiently. "Are you two the last Slytherins?"

They nodded.

Slughorn buggered off a while ago. He was probably hiding in some luxury Muggle hotel, quaffing those little bottles of alcohol and hoping that the war would go away by the time he finished his bubble bath. I have to admit that he had the right idea; I'm an idiot for staying behind.

I pushed them into the fireplace. "The Leaky Cauldron," I reminded them. "You can contact your parents from there."

I leant against the mantelpiece and sighed as the verdant flare subsided.

The expectant silence stretched on. Was it over, then? I had my preference for victor, of course, but I'd deal with whichever outcome. I was never going to wear the Dark Mark, though. The hideous tattoo--proof that Voldemort was wizarding trash≈was no more subtle or controlling than a choke chain on an animal.

"Where's Colin? I'm not going without Colin!"

I grimaced and turned to scowl darkly at Nigel Creevey. He was worse than his happy snappy brother, I swear. He's the type that makes me think they have a point about the Muggleborn students.

"He's probably at the Honeydukes evacuation point, Nigel. You can meet him in Diagon Alley," said Susan Bones.

She sounded far less pleasant and patient than she usually did; it had taken forever to evacuate the junior students. Susan and Brocklehurst had the Gryffindors to deal with, too. Not one of the brave and noble house had stayed behind to help with this 'lesser' task. I snorted with disgust.

"No. I want to wait for Colin!"

"Get in there now, Creevey!" I snapped.

A cold, high-pitched voice slithered from dark corners and under the door.

_"You have fought valiantly."_

I wasn't afraid of the snake-faced half-blood, but his voice was eerily dramatic, I had to admit. A chill chased down my spine.

_"Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."_

My sneer had frozen in place for a singular moment before I processed his next words, and I rolled my eyes. Now the delusional, psychopathic bastard was referring to himself in the third person. I shoved a handful of Floo Powder into Creevey's hand.

_"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste."_

"Honeydukes."

"No!" shouted Susan and Mandy in unison, rushing towards the fireplace.

I lunged forwards to grab the little idiot. My fist closed on the wisp of green smoke, and it dissipated between my fingers. "For fuck's sake!"

_"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."_

I longed to punch something -- all my pent up frustration and annoyance was beginning to leak around the edges of my control. I swear to Merlin the Gryffindors deserve their pigeonhole. I don't think I've met one who didn't fit the 'doesn't fucking think before they leap' bill. I closed my eyes and fought for control. Susan Bones' perfume danced on the air, and my lips parted in minute relaxation. I ignored Voldemort's rhetoric. Time enough for me to leave, though. Good.

"I'll go get him," Mandy Brocklehurst said.

_"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself."_

I turned on my heel and walked to the bar, crunching glass shards into rivulets of alcohol under my boots. Madam Rosmerta was busy Banishing all the shattered glass behind the bar. I picked up a surviving glass from the counter, and I dug into my pocket for a handful of Sickles.

_" I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences."_

"Bottle of Firewhisky, please." Detached and polite was all Rosmerta got from me. I'd given up being charming to her. It was a waste, because she'd held a grudge against all of Draco's friends since spending her days under Imperio.

_"This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."_

Rosmerta stood frozen in place as she listened, her hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She shook her head slightly and slid the bottle across the bar.

"Oh, dear Merlin," Rosmerta murmured, and she hurried up the stairs, presumably to pack.

I sat down at a table near the fireplace and poured a shot of Firewhisky. I sipped slowly and leant back against the wall, closing my eyes against the destruction and silence and a dishevelled-looking Susan.

"Oh, good idea," Susan said. I opened my eyes minutely, and I watched her dig around in her robe pockets. Her smile faded as she brought out that DA Galleon of hers. Her lips pressed together slightly, and she sighed softly as she put it back into her pocket.

"Get a glass," I said.

The look of surprise on her face was priceless. I supposed my reputation as a selfish bastard was rather widespread. She slid into the seat across from me after retrieving a glass from the bar. I poured a liberal shot of Firewhisky for her.

"Thanks," she murmured.

I pretended to ignore her. I drained my glass and grimaced slightly as the burn seared down my throat. The claws of tension in my stomach loosened slightly, and the spikes of pain that hammered at my temples eased somewhat.

"Where are you going now?" Her soft voice broke into my silent calm, and I slitted my eyes open slightly.

I lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Home."

My answer sent a frown chasing across her brow. "Aren't you going to stay and fight?"

I snorted. "No." She was seriously going to go back up to the castle, wasn't she? Idiot girl. "What the hell for?"

Her nostrils flared slightly. "To fight for what's right. To fight against Vol-" She swallowed the middle syllables, but lifted her chin defiantly, "-mort."

I smirked at her and poured another shot. "I thought I was an evil Slytherin," I reminded her. "Shouldn't I be fighting_ for_ him?"

She hesitated for moment, giving me that inscrutable look that she'd been giving me since Easter. "The thing is, Blaise..." She leant forward across the table. Her fingers curled around her neck, and she licked her lips nervously. "I don't think you want him to win," she said quietly. Her words and her closeness disquieted me. Susan Bones had a way of creeping under my skin, seeing through my guarded impassiveness. It was like she knew what I was thinking sometimes.

I leant forwards until our faces were so close that I could see myself mirrored in her eyes. I struggled to keep focus. Her scent made me imagine things √ like why she still smelt like that when she'd been fast asleep in bed an hour ago. I lifted my hand and pressed my fingertips against her fluttering pulse. "You don't know what I think, Susan," I drawled. She shivered slightly at the darkness underlying the silken tones of my voice.

"Coward," she whispered.

"No. I'm a pragmatist."

I gazed at her for a moment, and then, because I wanted to kiss her, I did. I tilted my head and brushed my lips against hers, smothering her little gasp of surprise. As my tongue slid along her lower lip, she pulled back, eyes wide and startled. I smirked at her. "Every dying woman needs a good last kiss," I told her as I slid from the bench. "I'd make it a good fuck, but I'm afraid I have to be going."

"Bastard," she said, staring at her glass.

"I know."

I took a handful of Floo Powder. Rosmerta came back down the stairs, decked out in jeans and combat boots.

"Wait for me," Susan called as Rosmerta headed for the door.

She glanced over her shoulder when she reached the door. Heatless flames spiralled around me, and the inexorable spin of the Floo Network started to pull at me. She looked regretful in that moment, and a crooked smile quirked my lips. "Ciao, bella," I murmured, and the Three Broomsticks blurred from sight.

* * *

Author's Notes: Lord Voldemort's speech is quoted directly from chapter 33 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_


End file.
